What They Fear Most
by UnderHetaStuckTrash
Summary: A series of short stories revolving around different Hetalia characters at different times. None of the chapters are related to each other, so you can read out of order if you want. I'll be writing Denmark, Spain, Hungary, Italy Veneziano, and Poland before looking through the reviews for suggestions. T rating because Romano swears. Fair warning, I have ships and they will sail.
1. Denmark

I Know What You Fear Most

It started as a day like any other. Tensions were high in Denmark's house, but that was usual. The clashing personalities of Matthias and Berwald kept the household holding their breaths, waiting for the next fight to take place.

 _It's not fair to poor Emil,_ Lukas thought, his expression as emotionless as ever as the "family" sat down to supper, _He shouldn't have to live in constant fear of his own brothers because he never knows what could set them off._ Norway turned his blank gaze to Tino and immediately knew something was about to go down. The usually bright and smiling nation was near tears, staring down at the table. His right arm was intertwined with Sweden's. Berwald's steely glare was backed up with fire and determination. Whatever he was about to start, he wasn't going to back down.

And, as usual, Matthias was completely oblivious to the aura of mutiny thickening in the air.

"-and then I chased Arthur and his pathetic army until the sun went down! Hahaha, the way this campaign's going, I'll conquer England in no time!" The Dane continued to laugh and talk about battles they'd all participated in like he'd won them single-handedly.

 _Who landed every arrow they fired? Finland. Who matched you in strength and valour on the field with half the recklessness? Sweden. Who worked so hard to impress you during that battle, only to have you leave him out of the retelling? Iceland. And who protected you all from England's violent mythos; from being hexed, cursed, turned to stone, mauled, and eaten? Me._ Lukas' inner rant was interrupted by Berwald standing, his glare fixed on Den. Tino bit his lip and closed his eyes, his hand still in Swede's. Neither of them had touched their food. Matthias' smile remained bright, but his eye's burned with anger at Berwald for disrupting his story.

"Sit down, Ber," his voice was relaxed, the undertone threatening, "I'd hate for you to miss the best par-."

"W're leav'n'," he stated, never breaking eye contact.

Den laughed, "That's a good one Ber! I didn't know you could be so _funny_." He spit the last word out through gritted teeth. His eyes locked onto Finland, who was still seated. "Isn't he so funny, Tino?"

"It's not a joke," the Fin answered softly, but with no sadness or fear, "He's leaving. I'm going with him. I'd convinced him to give you one more chance, to listen to you recount the day's battle. You failed, and that's that." Norway could see that the small nation had switched to soldier mode; calm, collected, and prepared to fight the moment Matthias breathed the wrong way. A small hand snuck its way into Nor's and squeezed it tightly. Lukas returned his grip to let him know he was there. He kept his eyes locked on Denmark.

"Nah, I don't fail," Den said with a grin, standing up, "I'm a conqueror. I take what I want and I never fail."

"Y're c'nceit'd," Berwald growled, "Y're v'n 'n c'cky 'n I c'n't st'nd th' s'ght of ya." The Swede took a step towards the door. Before his foot hit the ground again, Matthias was on him. Lukas pulled little Emil into his lap and covered the boy's eyes with his free hand.

"Ears," Nor commanded quietly. Iceland obediently covered his ears with his hands as yet another brawl began. A loud crash brought Lukas' attention back to the fight. Tino had managed to pull Denmark off of Berwald with surprising strength. Den launched an elbow back into Finland's nose, causing him to stagger back. Matthias turned, continuing the motion into a haymaker punch. The force was enough to knock the Fin off his feet and into the wall by the door. Berwald let out a vicious snarl as he tackled Den into the table in a choker hold. Norway jerked away to protect Emil from the massive oak table as it flipped, clipping his elbow. Pain jolted up his arm and spread through his body. His eyes watered against his will, but he remained silent for Iceland's sake. Denmark slammed his head into Berwald's repeatedly, until his grip loosened enough for Den to break free and throw him back. Matthias stood, breathing heavily with fire in his eyes. He pulled a dagger from his belt and stalked slowly towards Sweden.

"Give up," he barked, "You will never make it as your own nation! You _need_ me to _protect_ you!"

"Y're wr'ng," Sweden grunted as he picked himself up and prepared for the next bout, "Ya tr't 's l'ke d'rt 'n 'xp'ct 's t' st'y 'n l't ya b'lieve y're s'me k'nd of h'ro." He wiped a trail of blood from his chin.

"I AM a hero! Better yet, a god!" Den declared, "I've saved your sorry, pathetic excuse for a country more times than I can count! You'll die on your own, idiot!"

"I've s'ved ya too, b't 'll ya ev'r do 's c'ngr't'late y'rs'lf 'n pr'se y'rs'lf. S'me'ne n'ds t' t'ke ya d'wn a p'g."

"Su-…san," Tino mumbled weakly. He tried to sit up, but instead let out a gasp of agony and clutched his side, falling back against the wall. Berwald turned to his fallen friend for just a second, then realized his mistake. He turned back to see Denmark's dagger, inches from his face, frozen in a foot thick wall of ice that reached from wall to wall, ceiling to floor.

"What in the name of Helheim?!" Matthias' shouting sounded far and dull through the ice. Behind him, Lukas had put Emil back in his own seat and turned him away from the fight. He'd taken a few steps forward, then cast a spell, causing the ice-wall to appear just in time to save Sweden.

"Go," Nor spoke quietly, but his voice rang clear on the other side of the ice, "Take care of Fin." _I wish you luck in your venture_ , he added in thought only. The Swede nodded once in thanks, scooped up Finland with tender delicacy, and ran out the door into the night.

"TRAITOR!" Denmark raged, abandoning his trapped dagger, "It's bad enough that you never do anything to help me when Ber acts like that, but this time you actually helped _him_?!" He stormed towards him until their noses nearly touched. Lukas returned his scathing death-glare with his usual look of indifference.

"Are you going to hurt me?" his voice was flat and emotionless. Still, the question stunned Den more than any blow could. "Because if you are, then we need to go somewhere else so Emil doesn't have to see. Or perhaps you forgot that your child brother was here, watching you try to kill his family; hearing you threaten and insult his brothers; hoping that he doesn't get hurt by a stray attack or a piece of debris." Matthias took a step back from the Nord as he rolled up his sleeve to show a large bruise forming on his elbow. Blood beaded out of scrapes that trailed halfway up his upper arm.

"I… That's not…" Denmark stumbled over his words, failing to defend himself.

"That's not your fault?" Norway finished, each word cutting through Matthias, "But it never is your fault, is it? Because a god doesn't have faults, does he? But you do. You're crass, arrogant, pig-headed, hot-tempered, abrasive, hurtful, and selfish. You're oblivious to other's needs and as a result you drive others away with your loud, pompous attitude. And you still don't understand why you can't make people stay." Tears began to fill Den's eyes. He started to feel every blow Berwald had landed. The pain caused his knees to buckle, his head to throb. He closed his eyes tightly and cradled his head in his hands. When he finally looked back up, Lukas was inches away from his face, staring into his soul with his glassy glare.

"You're afraid of being alone," he stated softly, "You dread the very thought. You try to make yourself an idol in others eyes so they'll cling to you; when in reality it's you who cling to us. You are not a god, you are not our hero, and you are definitely not our leader." Lukas paused for what felt like an eternity to the Dane. He wanted to scream and punch something and cry and hide all at once, but he couldn't look away from Norway's dull blue eyes.

"But," Nor finally continued, his tone still completely unreadable, "There was once a time when we were all friends, you, me, Tino, and Berwald, and we swore to be friends until Jormungandr destroys the Yggdrasil and the world is consumed in the fires of Ragnarok. In those days, we were a true family. Tell me, has this constant god-act made you happy? Or has it made you increasingly more terrified that one day we would all leave you, alone, forever?" Denmark's breathing was shaky and uneven. Tears and blood alike streamed down his face.

"I…," he said between sobs, "I'm sorry…Lukas. You're right…please…please don't…leave me…alone. I'd…Luke, I'd die if you left, too!" He scoured Nor's expression, searching desperately for any sign of forgiveness. Very slowly, Lukas raised his hands to Matthias' face. Cradling his head, he began to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"I could never leave you," he whispered. This time, Matthias could feel the warmth in his voice. He released a sigh of relief and fell forward into Norway, enveloping him in a hug. Norway sat there, still as a statue, but allowed Den to cling to him and cry his heart out. Just having his shoulder to cry on, just having someone to hold was enough. He felt Nor's fingers caress his unruly hair, his lips lightly kiss the top of his head. Lukas stood, holding his hand out to Matthias to help him up. He took it without hesitation.

"I'm so sorry, Lukas," he began, but Norway cut him off.

"Don't apologise to me," his voice returned to neutral, "I'm not upset with you anymore. But…" he gestured over to the chair that faced the wall. Den's heart dropped once more as he remembered all the times he'd acted monstrously in front of the boy, all the times he'd stolen his glory away in the name of his own insecurity. He walked cautiously towards the chair, careful to not startle the little nation. Once he was able to see him, his heart broke into pieces.

There sat Emil with his feet up in the chair and hands covering his ears. His head was hidden behind his knees. His whole body trembled as he cried silent tears. The poor child couldn't have been more than eight years old, physically. Even in terms of nations, he was still so young and innocent of the world's hardships. If Matthias had destroyed that so early, he'd never forgive himself.

"Emil?" he said softly, "It's okay to open your eyes now." Iceland shook his head. Den tried to caress his hair like Nor had done for him, but he flinched away, cowering deeper into his little protective bubble.

"Emil, please listen to me," Denmark begged, "I'm sorry for scaring you and for hurting Ber. I'm sorry for never giving you enough credit because you're an amazing fighter and I see it every day. You're gonna grow up to be one strong little nation. Stronger than me even. I know I messed up big-time with you and if you decide you hate me, then I guess I deserve it. But please forgive me, cause right now I really need your help to become a better brother." Ice's tear-filled violet eyes shimmered from the crack between his knees. "I can't do this without you, little brother. I can't do _anything_ without you." Den smiled sheepishly. He held his arms out open to Iceland, who continued to stare at him. The longest few seconds of Matthias' life passed before Emil slowly stood up from his seat and hung his little arms around his brother's neck. Den picked him up with a laugh and spun him around. The little nation smiled, until he looked around the room.

"Where's Berwald and Tino?" he asked innocently.

"Uh," Matthias wasn't really sure how to answer that, "Well, Emil, they decided to move out. We might not see them again for a little bit. But I'll do my best to apologise to them the next time we see them, okay?" Iceland nodded, not fully understanding what that all meant. But if his big brother was really going to work hard to change, he was sure his other brothers would come back. Then, they could be a truly happy family.


	2. Spain

I Know What You Fear Most

Romano growled insults at his British captor as he was no doubt being lead to share a dingy cell with his stupid brother.

"Let me go, bastard-face, I've got family in Bedford!" he threatened. Of course, England knew he was bluffing, and he knew England knew he was bluffing, but he still wanted to tell off the Brit bastard as much as he could before having to deal with his blubbering bro.

"One more word out of you," Arthur sighed, "and you'll become my latest test subject in experimental magic."

 _You're mental in the head and you can't fucking cook_ , Lovino thought. He held his tongue, resorting to nasty faces and crude gestures to get his point across. Iggy unlocked a metal door with a simple barred window eye level. The room inside was small, roughly a ten by ten square, with a toilet in one corner and a plain grey bed, pillow, and blanket. On the opposite wall, the last few minutes of sunlight shone through a barred window.

"What the fuck is this crapola?" Romano complained as he stepped inside, "Where's Veneziano?"

"You're being kept in separate wings," England explained, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "Makes it harder for the two of you to escape. Listen, I'm sure you'd like to yell at more about all this, but I've got a headache, so if it's all the same to you, I'm just going to leave you to scream at the wall." He locked the cell door and turned to leave.

"It's not the same to me, bastard!" Lovi shouted, "You can't just leave me here! Hey, idioto! I wanna use my fucking phone call!" The Brit stopped dead in his tracks and breathed out a "bloody hell". He trudged the other way down the hall. A few minutes later, he came back with a dial phone. He handed Romano the receiver through the bars, who snatched it away. Arthur didn't need to ask who he was calling; he dialed in Spain's number and waited for the screaming to start.

"Hola?" Antonio answered, his usually cheery voice tinged with exhaustion.

"Alright, tomato bastard, listen up!" Romano raged, "The Allies have fucking captured me again and I need you to get your ass down here and bail me out of this shit hole!"

"Oh, Roma, you know I would," Tonio began apologetically, "But I'm still in major debt from my Civil War. I don't have the time or money to get there."

"Dammit, Espana, this is serious!" Lovino brought his voice down to a whisper in hopes that Arthur wouldn't overhear him, "I'm all alone here. As much as I hate listening to Feli cry or babble on about how amazing that fucking potato is, it's the only thing that makes this bearable. Why don't you come over here and rescue me like a good friend would?"

The question caught Antonio off guard. That was the same way he asked for help when he was little and Ottoman Empire had kidnapped him. He'd never admit it, but Spain knew Lovi was scared of being in small spaces all alone after that. He recalled fondly how nearly every night after that, Romano would throw himself onto Spain's bed.

" _I'm not scared, you bastard," the tiny Italy yelled, "My stupid bed just isn't as comfortable as yours."_

After a while, Romano stopped coming to him and Antonio just figured he'd grown out of it. Perhaps in his own house he was too embarrassed to admit to still having the same fears he did as a child, but now that he was thousands of miles away with no friends around…

"A-alright," Spain sighed, "I'll try my best, Roma, but please understand that it will be next to impossible for me to do anything."

"Whatever," Lovino huffed, "Just hurry up already, it's getting dark. Don't make me wait, bull-brain!"

"Si, si, I'll get on it immediately. Goodbye, Roma. Ti amo." Tonio hung up.

"Hey, you can't just say something like that and then hang up on me!" Romano yelled at the phone as if Spain could still hear him.

"I take it from that your call's over," Arthur stated, pulling the receiver away from Lovi. He put the phone back where he moved it from and started to leave once more. "Breakfast comes at 7 and is picked up at 9 so don't sleep in."

"Fuck your bland, pathetic English excuse for food!" Lovi lashed out. And then he was all alone.

oOoOoOo

Antonio hung up the phone and finished of the paper rose he'd been working on during their call. His joints ached from so much paper folding; each hand covered in paper cuts. And still, there were thousands upon thousands left to make before he could work off his debts.

"That should be enough for today," he breathed to no one in particular. Beside him, his boss chuckled.

"You know she won't accept that mentality. She'll want you making roses until dawn the next day."

Spain grimaced, "Ali's family has been giving me grief for centuries, specifically with money and Romano. I really wish you'd fire her. Out of a cannon."

"Tonio," his boss laughed, "That's not like you to dislike a pretty girl."

"I suppose you could say I've grown callous to her and any other woman from her family. I pray she does not marry." His boss stood and patted him on the back.

"She's engaged, amigo."

"Ay ay ay, what'd I do to deserve this?" Antonio stood and stretched, "I suppose it's time to face the dragon." He walked to the door. The moment his hand touched the handle, his boss spoke up.

"Who was on the phone?" Spain sighed and dropped his hand. He'd almost made it out.

"It…was Romano," he answered reluctantly, "He needs my help."

"Spain, we've talked about this," his boss said sternly, "We don't have the wealth to keep him anymore. All he does is lounge around, eat our food, and ask for money when he's in trouble. Besides, if you break him out of prison, you know he'll be back there in a week."

"Maybe that's true about Romano," Antonio said quietly, "But the person, Lovino, he's my closest and dearest friend. I need him and he needs me."

"That's very noble of you to want to save your friend," his boss chose his words carefully, knowing that when Tonio got quiet, he was close to erupting, "But you have to think of your people first. You're not even close to recovered from this war. Romano will be fine on his own."

"Roma is never fine on his own," Spain countered, "When he's not with me, he's with his brother. He may act like he can't stand us but, deep down, he does love us and he's so thankful that we stick by him no matter what. To be all alone now, he probably feels abandoned and unloved. I have to do something." Before his boss could continue their argument, he stormed out the door. He made it halfway down the hall before he heard a shrill, nagging voice call him.

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo!" Spain turned with a nervous smile on his face.

"Hola, Alejandra. I heard you were engaged, that's pretty great-,"

"Shut up," she interrupted angrily, "You don't care, you're just trying to butter me up. So, what crazy stunt are you trying to pull?"

"Ali, please," he pleaded, "I need to go help Roma. He's all alone an-,"

"Absolutely not," she declared, "You _know_ we're far too in debt to take care of that foul mouthed freak. You know, my great bisabuela told you that boy would only be trouble in the long run and it looks like she was right. When will you learn, Espana? That boy is no good for you. Now, how many roses did you make today?"

"Two hundred thirty. That's really good though, considering how long it takes to fold them and how much time there is in the day." Antonio watched her hopefully. Maybe she'd be impressed by his work and let him go after all.

"I suppose that will have to do," she said, dissatisfied, "You still have paperwork to go through before tomorrow, so get on that."

"But what about Roma?"

Alejandra rubbed her temples and sighed, "Espana, I want you to listen to me. He. Is. Worthless. On top of that, he's not even yours anymore! He just likes to use you because he knows you'll always come to help him. That little puta needs to grow up and learn to fend for himself."

"But-,"

"ENOUGH!" she snapped. She marched over to her nation and grabbed him by the ear. "You're not going off to free that ungrateful brat and that's final! You have far too much work to do before you pull yourself out of the gutter, let alone any other godforsaken nation!" She continued to scold him, ignoring his cries of protest, until they reached his office. She dragged him to his desk and sat him down.

"You are going to stay in here until you finish all of today's necessary work," she ordered, staring him right in the eye, "Then you are going to sleep so you can be ready to do this all over again tomorrow! Under no circumstances will you leave the country until your government is stable! I have you on track to be debt free in just a few years and I will not let you jeopardize this nation for the sake of something as frivolous as love! Do I make myself clear?" Antonio wanted nothing more than to defy her, to proclaim that nothing could stop him from coming to the rescue of his precious Lovi. But he was so tired. The civil war had drained him, leaving him hollow inside. Plus all this mind numbing work was really wearing on him mentally. As much as it made his heart ache, he had to admit that they were right. He was in no shape to go after Lovi.

"Si, senora," he sighed. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he saw a flicker of worry flash across Alejandra's face.

"Good," she said, walking to the door, "I'll be back to get you in a few hours." Tonio barely registered the sound of the door shutting as he stared vacantly at the various piles of paperwork on his desk.

"Please forgive me, Roma," he whispered, "I'm powerless to save you."

oOoOoOo

*~Epilogue~*

Romano stuffed his hands in his in his pockets as he walked into Spain's house. That damn bastard never did show up at England's, leaving him to wait until Potato Head came to rescue his brother. He was just glad his little brother would never leave him somewhere as scary as anywhere that only served English food.

"Antonio!" Lovino called through the halls, "Where are you? I've got a lot of yelling at you to do!" He continued his wandering until he ran into none other than the she demon Alejandra. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Romano? I thought you were in prison."

"Sorry to disappoint you," he sneered, "Where are you hiding Spain?"

"He's busy right now," she stated, "You'll have to come back at anoth-,"

"Fine, I'll find him without your help," Roma growled, brushing past her. Unlike Antonio, he wasn't afraid of upsetting Ali and had decided long ago to make her family's lives hell for pushing Spain around all the time.

"Cumplidores manipuladora," Ali hissed under her breath.

"Cagna opprimente," he shot back. No nation should have to take shit from their government like that. He rounded the corner and opened the door to Spain's office.

"Anto-," Lovino cut himself off when he saw Antonio asleep on his desk, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of paper roses.

 _Damn,_ he thought, taking a seat across from the sleeping nation, _He's gonna work himself to death._ With a sigh, Lovi picked up a sheet of red paper and began to fold and cut as quietly as possible _. Holy shit, making paper roses was tedious. How the hell did Tonio do this every day?_ He made maybe three in an hour before he accidentally glued his hand to a piece of paper. He tore it off, wincing as the ripping noise tore through the silence of the room.

"…need to…" Spain muttered in his sleep, causing Romano to jump, "…he needs…me…" Lovino stared at him, stunned. Antonio had been here working himself to the bone, to the point where he was falling asleep in his office, and the thing at the forefront of his mind was rescuing Lovi.

"Hey, tomato brain," he said quietly, shoving one of his roses in his face, "Wake the fuck up." Spain groaned as he opened his eyes.

"Man, I must be losing it," he mumbled, "I could've sworn this rose just spoke to me."

"Can't lose what you never had, Antonio," Lovi replied, moving the flower, "You look like shit, by the way." The shock of seeing Lovino was enough to wake him up. He immediately leapt over the desk, tackling the younger nation in a hug.

"Oh, Roma!" he cried, "I'm so glad you're alright and I'm so sorry I couldn't be the one to save you! I wanted to, I really did, but it was impossible. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Sure, whatever, just get off of me, bastard!" Antonio sat up, bearing his brightest smile in days. As Lovino sat up, something caught his eye that made him burst out in laughter.

"What the hell are you laughing at, jerk tomato?!" Romano snapped. Unable to stop laughing, Antonio grabbed Roma's wrist and turned the palm up to reveal torn pieces of red paper still stuck to his hand.

"It's just really cute," he chuckled, "You helping me and making a mess, just like when you were little."

"I am not cute!" Lovino protested, "Fuck off, jerk face, I hate your stupid guts!" Antonio leaned forward to embrace Lovi once more. With his old smile back and tears in his eyes, he nestled into his shoulder.

"I love you too, Roma."


End file.
